


one thing less problematic

by tryslora



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Background Relationships, Community: fullmoon_ficlet, Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski are Soulmates, First Kiss, M/M, Magical Stiles Stilinski, New York City, met later
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-15
Updated: 2017-01-15
Packaged: 2018-09-17 14:10:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,860
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9328283
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tryslora/pseuds/tryslora
Summary: Stiles is having the worst day ever, then he meets his soulmate.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for Prompt #206 (Problem) at Fullmoon Ficlet. It was also written for the prompt from [writemesomewords](http://writemesomewords.tumblr.com) which was _Today I got soaked by the rain, missed a plane, got stuck for two hours on a subway, and got lost. I'm in the most randomly unexpected place imaginable. Then I met you and when we touched, I knew I’d met my soulmate._

Today has been shit.

It has seriously just been the worst kind of day. Well, no one died, so that’s one positive, but otherwise? It’s been crap.

Stiles stares down at the phone in his hand—the battery’s dead, of course. The screen’s cracked, from when it slid out of his hand into a crack in the sidewalk, then fell off of that into the puddle on the side of the street. Not that it hadn’t already gotten drenched once in his pocket, after his car died and he had to hike two miles in the rain just to get to a place where he could call for a tow.

“Got soaked, missed my plane, got into New York three hours late, then the subway….” Stiles mutters. “The fucking subway, which has _signs_ that you’d think would be easy to follow, but no, it just stops, and I have to go a different way, and now somehow I’m—here.” He glances around, sighs and grumbles, still talking to the unresponsive phone. “I’m in Queens, Scotty. Which is not the part of New York where NYU is. I may not be familiar with the city, but even I know it’s made up of boroughs and this isn’t the right one. This is what I get for following the crowd after being stuck for an hour, huh?”

There’s got to be some place he can eat. Some kind of a coffee shop, or all night diner. Anything. His stomach growls loudly at the thought, and he sighs, standing up and grabbing the handle of his bag. It elongates, and he can pull it behind him as he makes his way to the nearest street entrance.

“Yes, I know I could’ve just followed the crowd out of the station,” Stiles mutters. “But I was looking at the map, trying to figure out where I am, and there wasn’t really a crowd so much as a steady trickle of people. And I didn’t want to look creepy.” He stops, grumbles. “Yes, I know I look even more creepy because I’m talking to myself. Fine. Shutting up.”

He pauses on the street, jaw tight and lips pressed together as he looks both ways. There’s a strip of restaurants or stores or something to the right, so he heads in that direction. There’s noise, and light, and he should be able to find food and a place to plug his phone in to see if it even still works, and maybe he’ll just splurge and get a cab afterward, so he can get to his apartment finally.

This wouldn’t be so miserable if he didn’t have orientation tomorrow morning. Maybe he should’ve flown in sooner.

This would’ve worked if things hadn’t gone so wrong today, though. He would’ve been in the apartment hours ago, Scott would’ve helped him get settled, he would’ve gone over to campus and met with his advisor.

His advisor. Who he was supposed to call hours ago.

Well, shit.

He pushes open the first door he comes to, steps inside to the sound of guitar playing over the speakers, and a woman’s voice crooning softly. A low rumble of conversation fills the air, and no one bothers to look at him. He drops his suitcase near a high wingback chair, smiles slightly at the girl on the sofa nearby who glances up at him, then quickly looks away.

Friendly people, huh?

The shop is lined with built-in bookcases and windows. The books are strewn on coffee tables, left on sofas, in messy piles on the shelves. Some folks are quietly reading while drinking and eating, and others have stacks of books they appear to be using for research. Others are deep in conversation, or bent over laptops. It’s busy. Stiles gets the feeling he should be grateful he managed to claim a chair.

The girl behind the counter raises her eyebrows as Stiles approaches, points at the sign on the back wall when he opens his mouth. He closes it again without saying anything, and reads the daily specials, then cranes his head to read the little chalkboards hanging from pots of coffee, and the small tins of tea. There are a lot of options.

“I’ll take one of the apple dumplings, à la mode, and your largest, darkest coffee with two shots of caramel and whipped cream,” Stiles says, digging for his wallet. Which is wet. Gross.

“Thirteen fifty,” the girl says, her tone dry and bored. “Don’t give me that look. It’s a five dollar coffee, and that’s the best apple dumpling you’ll ever have. Dollar extra for the ice cream, and of course, there’s tax. Tip jar’s next to the register.”

“Because you have stellar service and a scintillating personality?” Stiles asks, and her eyebrows go up again.

“I could spit in your coffee, if you’d rather,” she tells him. “I don’t have to be nice to you.”

“You have to be nice to him, Cora!” someone shouts from beyond the back wall. “That’s the definition of customer service!”

“I don’t have to like it, Laura!” she shouts back, sticking her tongue out. “Sisters,” she says, like Stiles would understand. He nods like he does, even though with no siblings of his own, he really doesn’t get it.

Scott’s different. He’s not an actual brother. Isaac might come close, but the only thing he’s ever really argued with Isaac about is Scott.

Cora bangs the dishes as she brings out a dumpling and gets it warmed up. She makes the coffee last, swirling the cream on top and drizzling extra caramel over it. Stiles peels apart the bills from his wallet and shoves a ten and a five at her. “Keep the change.”

She dangles them both from pinched fingers. “Did you go swimming?”

“Caught in the rain, and they didn’t dry even after a crappy flight and getting stuck on the subway.” Stiles shrugs. “Crappy day overall. Which reminds me. You don’t actually happen to have a land line in this place, do you? I need to call my advisor and explain why I missed our meeting, and let my roommate know that I’m not dead, just lost in Queens.”

“Long Island City,” Cora says.

Stiles blinks. “I’m on Long Island? How did I get on Long Island?”

She laughs, and Stiles swears he hears laughter from people that he can’t see. “You’re in Long Island City. In Queens. You’re not all that far from Manhattan, if that’s where you meant to be.”

“NYU,” Stiles tells her. “Graduate student and a TA, and Professor Yukimura is going to be extremely pissed off that I missed meeting up with him today. Especially after he made time specifically on a Sunday for me.”

Cora tilts her head, and Stiles swears he sees her ears perk up. She turns slowly, looks at the door to the back. “I’ll go see if I can find you a phone.” She wipes her hands on her apron and disappears, leaving the counter completely unsupervised.

No one else seems to think this is unusual, so Stiles bites his tongue on calling after her. She also didn’t say that he had to stand right here, so he takes his plate and mug and heads back to the high wingback chair. The girl is gone from the sofa, and Stiles takes advantage of that, moving furniture so he can use the nearest coffee table. He takes a sip of his coffee, then licks at the whipped cream. He sets down the mug and picks up the plate with the dumpling, inhaling the scent of sweet and spicy cinnamon apples. His spoon presses through the flaky crust easily, caving it in, and he carves out a bite of apples, crust, and ice cream. Flavors explode across his tongue—sweet, tart, and spicy—and he makes an involuntary sound, groaning deeply.

There’s a low cough, and someone sinks into the chair next to his.

Stiles glances over, and a phone is pushed toward him. He takes it, stares at the stone-faced man holding it out. “Thanks?”

“Cora said you need a phone.” The words sound tight. Awkward.

“Yeah, I really do.” Stiles holds it in his left hand, reaches out with his right hand. “Thanks, man, I’m Stiles.”

“Derek.”

Their fingertips brush first, sparking with little zings of electricity. Stiles flinches, and Derek pulls back, but Stiles grabs his hand, holds on tight as he shakes it. Firm touch, not too long, trying not to pay too close attention to the heady warmth and the light feeling that’s sparking through his body.

He wants to say _did you feel that_ but he’s pretty sure Derek has no idea.

And honestly, how do you say _well, so, magic’s a thing and I think we might be connected_ to someone you’ve just met? It’s a touchy subject. Stiles knows this from experience.

He cradles the phone in his hand, brings up the keypad and punches in Scott’s number. Scott picks up on the second ring, slightly out of breath. “Hey, buddy,” Stiles says after Scott’s querying _hello_. “My phone’s dead, so I’m borrowing one from this dude because I am lost in Queens and I am hours late and Professor Yukimura is going to kill me.”

“I thought you were dead!” Scott shouts, loud enough that Stiles is pretty sure that anyone in a ten foot radius heard him. It’s enough that Derek is wincing, and Stiles pulls the phone a little away from his ear.

“Not dead,” he reassures Scott. “You saw I missed my plane, right?” He’d sent a text. Or tried to send a text—his phone was already acting up by then, after the rainstorm.

“No….” Scott says slowly. “You what?”

Stiles gives him the entire rundown—dead car, rainstorm, missed plane, stuck in the subway, lost. He’s all too aware of the fact that he’s using a stranger’s phone, and now Scott’s going on and on about something he did at the practice today, and some class he’s taking, and all the while, Derek’s staring at Stiles, one eyebrow lifted.

“Scott. Buddy. _Dude_.” Stiles manages to break into the monologue. “I love you, but you’re going to get to tell me all that in person once I find my way to NYU and our apartment. What I need you to do now is go call Professor Yukimura, because my phone is too dead to get into and find his number, and let him know that I didn’t blow him off, and I’ll meet with him tomorrow right after I get through my TA orientation thing. I think they’re teaching us how to be decent TAs. Like grading, and shit. Anyway. Point is, let me give Derek his phone back, and then I really want to eat this incredible apple dumpling because this is the first food I’ve had since California, and then I will find my way to you. Okay?”

“Do we need to get you another new phone?” Scott asks.

“You don’t have to say it like I break it every week,” Stiles says dryly.

“Only every month,” Scott replies, and Stiles swears Derek is laughing at him. He can’t be, because obviously he can’t hear Scott’s oh-so- _not_ _-_ witty comments, but there’s still amusement in his eyes.

They’re really very pretty eyes. Fuck Stiles’s life, because this is too complicated and nothing’s going right today.

“Stiles?” Scott says. “I’m hanging up now and going to call Ken.”

“Right, yes, Ken. Professor Yukimura. Your girlfriend’s dad.” Stiles runs through all the options, pressing his fingertips to the bridge of his nose. “Goodbye, Scott. I’ll see you later.” He ends the call and wipes the phone against his jeans before handing it back to Derek. “Thanks.”

“You know Ken Yukimura,” Derek says slowly.

Stiles picks up his plate and digs the spoon in, scooping up too much for one bite. He doesn’t let that stop him, shoving it in his mouth and savoring the spread of flavors. His eyes roll up, then flicker closed as he groans. “Fuck, this is good. My compliments to the chef, or cook, or whatever. Maybe I’m just hungry, but I could eat this every day and die happy.”

Derek scowls. “Professor Yukimura,” he prompts.

“My advisor.” Stiles gestures with his spoon. “At NYU. My best friend, Scott, is dating his daughter, and they got to talking, and Yukimura’s historical research dovetails perfectly with my mix of history and mythology, and well, it’s even better that he knows—” Stiles cuts off abruptly, snaps his mouth shut because again, that’s a little complicated for a casual discussion. “Anyway, he’s perfect, and we get along great. He even knows this guy he’s going to put me in touch with for some practical research.”

Derek’s still holding the phone and staring at Stiles. There’s a whistle, and Derek raises his free hand, palm out toward the counter, where Cora stands with another girl—probably Laura—both avidly watching.

“Deaton said—”

“Deaton!” Stiles says around another mouthful of dumpling. “That’s the name of—” He cuts off when Derek wraps his fingers around Stiles’s wrist, all bright heat and sparks. Stiles swears he sees a flash of light around their hands, echoed in the way Derek’s eyes flash bright blue.

“Oh.” Stiles swallows. “Well, fuck, that makes this all easier,” he says slowly.

“Makes what easier?” Derek’s voice is a confused growl. He hasn’t let go of Stiles’s wrist.

“This.” Stiles leaves the plate on his chair as he lunges forward, one knee on the table, his free hand reaching out to steady himself against Derek’s shoulder. It’s awkward as fuck, but he manages to get close enough to kiss him in a fleeting shower of sparks, then again as Derek grips his hair and hauls him closer. Stiles squeaks and sinks into the kiss, sighing softly when it ends.

Derek tugs, and somehow Stiles ends up across his lap, like it’s the most natural place to be. “Deaton said someone was going to need my phone,” Derek tells him.

“The fact that you know Deaton, and that him telling you that and it ending up being true, makes my life so much better today,” Stiles says. “It’s been a shit day.”

“I heard what you told your friend.”

“Yeah, well.” Stiles touches Derek’s cheek, running his fingers over the scruff. “It’s not so bad right now. I’ve had ninety-nine problems today, and you are most definitely not one of them.”

Cora brings over a cup, a box, and a plastic spoon. She deftly transfers the dumpling and ice cream into the box, tucking the spoon inside, then somehow manages to get the coffee into the paper cup and keep the whipped cream on top and intact. She hands both to Stiles. “Derek’s going to show you the right train to get back to NYU. He’s pretty familiar with the area, since he’s doing his doctorate with Ken and Noshiko.” She hands Derek a bag. “Derek, you’re going to deliver this to Isaac. I will win him over yet with the power of scones.”

That would be one coincidence too many.

“Isaac isn’t—”

Cora holds up her hand. “If your Scott is dating Kira, then yes, my Isaac—who is not yet my Isaac but will be soon—is your Isaac, and I know, he’s an asshole, but I happen to like that as long as he’s actually a nice guy underneath. And Isaac’s a literal puppy, so we’re good.”

Stiles coughs at the description. “Yes, yes, he is.”

She grins, showing teeth. “Put in a good word for me. I think he’s worried I’m going to bite.”

“I’ll tell him to ask you to,” Stiles deadpans, and Cora laughs.

She leans in, whispers to Derek, “Laura says if you’re not coming home, call. And bring Stiles back tomorrow so she can meet him properly. Because she has questions. So many questions.”

Derek spills Stiles off his lap. “We’re going. Now. Before my sisters get worse.”

They juggle what they’re carrying, until Derek is laden with baked goods and coffee, and Stiles has hold of his suitcase. He trails after Derek until they’re outside, stopping when Derek stops.

Derek shuffles everything into one hand, uses the other to cup Stiles’s cheek, leaning in to kiss him slowly. “We’re connected,” Derek says softly. He runs the back of his fingers down the line of Stiles’s cheekbones, and Stiles feels the sparks that dance along the path.

Stiles nods. “Soulmates, if you want to call it that. I’ve read about it, but never met anyone who actually—”

Derek cuts him off with a kiss. “Now you have.”

Stiles has to laugh at that. “Yes, now I have. And in a day full of problems, you are the one thing less problematic. But I’m glad all that shit led me here.”

“We’d have met eventually,” Derek says calmly, leading Stiles down the street. “But I’m glad it happened sooner rather than later.”

Stiles thinks about the bright sparks the first time they touched, the zing that went straight to his heart. “Me too,” he says. “Very definitely me too.”

**Author's Note:**

> You can also find me [on tumblr](http://tryslora.tumblr.com)!


End file.
